


Happy Christmas Sebastian

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Affection, Caring, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Drunkenness, Fluff, Kissing, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8978575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: Moran has got himself very drunk at the Moriarty family Christmas party





	

Moriarty has never seen Moran like this before; he has never witnessed his lover being quite so, well, _merry_. He _has_ seen Moran drunk before, becoming sometimes melancholic as a result; occasionally behaving with far more aggression (though never towards the professor). But there is something curiously childlike about Moran's present state of inebriation. Moriarty therefore thought it best to remove the colonel from the Christmas party before he does something rather embarrassing in front of Moriarty's family and their other guests.

“Think that punch was a _wee_ bit stronger than I thought,” Moran says, giggling as he trips over his own feet as he meanders down the passageway.

“You did not have to drink so many cups of it,” Moriarty points out.

“Can't 'elp it if your family intimate-intiminate-inter-” Moran narrows his eyes, pondering this most profound conundrum. “ _Intimidate_ me.”

Moriarty pauses momentarily. “My family do?”

Moran too hesitates to peer at Moriarty rather unsteadily. “Mm, your mother and Jamie both trying to flirt with me and James looking like he wants to murder me.” He staggers the couple of paces towards Moriarty necessary to close the gap between them. “Why the bloody 'ell are you all called James anyway? James, James, James, bet your bloody cat was James an' all.” This seems to strike him as the very pinnacle of hilarity and he dissolves into giggles.

“My parents were not the imaginative sort,” Moriarty says, his tone somewhat clipped. He catches Moran's arm before he falls and steers him firmly through the door into the library. “There we are, in here.” He manoeuvres Moran over towards the window-seat with its plush burgundy cushions, directing him to sit.

Moran leans back, the back of his head resting against the cold glass. Outside it is snowing still and as evening descends the window is beginning to frost up, despite the warmth inside the house.

“Professor, Professor.” Moran catches hold of Moriarty's tie, jerking the professor closer towards him. “Look!” he says in a low but urgent tone, pointing upwards.

Moriarty twists his head around to glance up as much as he is able to with Moran still dragging him down by his tie. Above their heads he sees a bunch of mistletoe, tied with red ribbon, dangling from the curtain pole.

“I 'ave to-” Moran hiccups. “I 'ave to kiss you now.” He slides his hand around the back of Moriarty's head, drawing him even closer, smiling at him as his slightly unfocused gaze meets Moriarty's.

With a small sigh of feigned resignation, Moriarty presses a kiss to Moran's lips. He can taste the potent alcoholic punch in the kiss; is sure he can taste it still even after Moran drops his chin, pressing his forehead to Moriarty's. For some moments they just sit there together, only the crackle of the fire, the tick of the clock and sounds of distant merriment elsewhere in the house audible.

“Professor.” Moran grins wickedly as he breaks the silence. “Professor, take me.”

“Take you?”

“Yeah.” Moran glances up at him again. “I want you to...” He begins to fumble his way towards the buttons of Moriarty's trousers, though he misses them entirely. “Sir, I want you to... fuck me.”

Moriarty clasps Moran's hand as he tries again to manipulate the buttons, steadying it. “Here?” he says. A strange location for such a tryst, he thinks; perhaps not terribly comfortable also, but the colonel looks at him with such eagerness behind his inebriation.

Moran lets his head tip back again, feeling the frost forming on the windowpanes against his scalp. It feels pleasantly cool set against the heat of the house. Even in here, amidst the walls of shelving lined with hundreds of books, it is still hot. “Yes,” he says, grinning again.

“You're drunk,” Moriarty points out with a wry smile.

“Not _that_ drunk.” Moran giggles. He twists his head sideways then leans over again. His nose bumps against Moriarty's before he manages to find the professor's mouth once more and kisses him on the lips. The kiss is abruptly ended though when Moran drops down, sliding off the cushion and ending up sitting at the base of the window-seat. “Fuck,” he says. “All right, I'm just a tad drunk,” he concedes and starts giggling helplessly again. He rests his head against the cushion and closes his eyes, still laughing to himself.

“Really, pet.” Moriarty regards him with mock consternation. He should leave Moran there, hoping that awakening with a hangover in an uncomfortable position will teach his companion a lesson about moderating his drink. But he does not; he would never seriously contemplate leaving Moran alone in such a vulnerable state. Instead, with considerable more grace than Moran, Moriarty slides off the seat cushion to sit on the floor beside the colonel.

Moran slumps against him, eyes still closed. “James, my James.” He is slurring his words, his voice thick not just with the more direct effects of alcohol but with sleepiness too. He nuzzles against the professor. “Ashe-” Moran hiccups and giggles again. “ _Asheghetam_ ,” he mumbles into Moriarty's shirt.

“Hmm?” Moriarty glances down at him, uncertain what Moran has said, though he supposes it was probably just drunken nonsense. But Moran is unable to enlighten him; with his head resting against Moriarty's shoulder, mouth still slightly open, he has fallen soundly asleep. With another small sigh Moriarty resigns himself to sitting there until Moran has sobered up a little. Well, he thinks, at least it is warm in here. He slides his arm around Moran, embracing and steadying him, as he places a gentle kiss on the top of the slumbering colonel's head. “Happy Christmas, Sebastian,” he says softly.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Asheghetam – Persian: I love you/I'm in love with you


End file.
